The Case of the Stars Brightly Burning
by Merlin Missy
Summary: Neil Gaiman's A Study in Emerald AU. Holmes and Watson and what came after.


The Case of the Stars Brightly Burning  
Fandom: Neil Gaiman - A Study in Emerald  
Written for: Corbeaun in the Yuletide 2008 Challenge  
by Merlin Missy

Being not nearly as adept with matters of subterfuge and disguise as my dear companion despite his impatient tutelage during our recent regrettable adventures, I found my greatest difficulty as we made our way into safe anonymity in that stew of St. Giles was not keeping up my pace with him, but in maintaining the integrity of my false eyebrows and whiskers, battered as they were by the large scarf covering my head. Mine was a poor disguise compared to his, as ever, for his skill in acting allowed him to take on not just the outer trappings of a foreigner, Bohemian for preference, but also that same demeanour.

He had arranged our new lodgings without me, not for the first time. As we hurried without seeming to hurry, a particular skill he had managed to impart to me while fleeing the scenes of our grisly undertakings, I took in my surroundings, hoping to discern some landmark or peculiarity to allow me find the place again should I come here alone. Instead, I was nearly overcome by the crowded switchback alleys, jostled with loud men and women in all states of clothing and engaged in every form of commerce, from the simple to the obscene. Boys, and some girls too, scampered through the streets in coats too large or too small or in fact no coats at all, some shouting at each other in a mysterious series of games and codes, but most were smaller mirrors of the adults around them, intent on business of an unpalatable nature. Everywhere, stalls and tents squatted in the narrow lanes, while above us, dingy linens dried in the murky air, filled with smoke and fetid vapours to which I hoped to put no name.

At last, stepping into one alley quite like many others we had passed, my friend halted in front of a doorway and rapped in a syncopated rhythm until a mean-faced and wrinkled woman appeared, framed in a small crack of door.

"Mr. Mycroft Adler and his companion, Dr. Hamish Morstan," said my friend, as a cold thrill ran through me at the surname he chose for my latest identity. The landlady nodded and opened the door enough to allow us inside. My friend placed the rent in her outstretched hand and she led us to our rooms.

The sitting room was ten feet square, with two worn chairs and a threadbare rug in faded shades of green and brown. A thick curtain, which she pulled aside, covered the single grimy window that overlooked a wretched street. The grate had been set for a fire, though yet unlit and thus the room felt damp and oppressive like a cave awaiting the dawn of Man's mastery over flame. A quick look into the bedroom attached showed a room less than half the other's size, with a rumpled but clean-looking bed taking up most of the space and a small table and basin taking up the rest.

"Thank you," said my friend, appearing to delight in these meagre accommodations as much as I despaired of them. "My niece will be joining us in a few days." He gave her another coin. "I assume that will not be a problem."

"I run a clean house," said the landlady, whose name I never learned in our brief time there. But she clenched the money in her hand and left us alone. I set my valise on the floor and began to unwrap the offensive scarf, but my friend waved his hand and sat heavily in one of the chairs, which threatened to break beneath him. I sat unhappily in the other.

"You don't have a niece, Holmes," I said sourly. While I normally took pains not to remind him of his poor dead brother, he'd given himself that unfortunate's name this time, and myself the name of the woman I'd once hoped to marry. As aliases went, these were more easily traceable than most we'd used, and I could not help but wonder if he'd chosen them to remind me of why we had joined together in our impossible quest.

"Adler, if you please," he said, his eyes on the thin walls separating us from our current landlady and other tenants.

I sighed. "Adler, you have no niece."

"Then I shall acquire one immediately!" he declared, and his eyes were full of that familiar mischief which had drawn me with him into this mad endeavour. He had sworn solemnly on the grave of his brother to oppose the Old Ones wherever possible, and took, not to his credit, a certain delight in doing so. I myself had taken no oath, looking upon our self-made task as a duty to be performed with diligence rather than pleasure. Thus, to save the shreds of his soul and to preserve the worth of mine, it was his part to bring us, however puckishly, to situations where we could best accomplish our goals, and it was mine to see them through. Thus, he signed his work "Rache," but mine, although anonymous, was ever "Pflicht."

"I thought, after our latest adventure, that we came here to lie quietly until the police stopped looking for us."

"So we did," said my friend. "Nevertheless, our work must not be allowed to idle. Our new opponents, much more clever than their comrades at Scotland yard, will expect us to stay quiet, and for that reason alone, we must act."

"To procure you a niece."

"To rescue a fair maiden, if that meets your standards better, old friend. You do recall the lady I mentioned in my letter to the good Professor?"

I shifted in my seat. "You tempted the Prince with an imaginary girl, as I remember."

"On the contrary. I tempted him with the promise of a real girl. Hardly could a fantasy have brought him into our clutches so easily. I simply did not provide the girl in question."

"You indicated to our new adversary that she was fictional."

"So I did." He sat back, absently reaching into his pockets for his pipe. I sat restlessly as he went through the ritual of tobacco, matches, and thick smoke. At last, his mouth moved into a more severe angle, and I knew he was back to business.

"My dear Morstan," he said, hardly pausing at the name, "I received a letter at our previous lodgings from a sad fellow by the unlikely name of Jefferson Hope. The fellow claimed to be on his deathbed, due to a weakness in his heart, and sure enough, shortly after I reached his bedside, the man expired."

"You didn't help him along his way, I trust?"

"Goodness, no. Hope was not among our enemies, though I fear his efforts to reach me via our allies will cause us problems for some time. A very patient man, but direct and not gifted with the ability to hide his tracks behind him. In fact, it is for this very reason that we cannot linger in our efforts, for I believe that by revealing his hand to me, he may have also endangered the lady's life."

"Does this lady have no name?"

"You may think of her as Lucy Ferrier, though that was not the name she was born under, nor is it the name she currently goes by. The girl in question is in a convent in Cornwall, as I indicated, kept there these last ten years for her own safety from her enemies in the New World. Kept also, I should mention, from her betrothed, the late Hope, and soon to take vows, whether she wishes to or not, pledging herself in eternal service to those we fight." I shuddered. The wimpled, soulless women of the Order, with their pruned faces and clawed hands, given over in body and soul to the monsters and eventually part monster themselves, were often set to watch over little children. Especially while they slept. He continued, "She was smuggled from the New World against her will and installed under the watchful eye of the Abbess."

"For what reason?"

"Politics. We and our friends are not the only ones fighting against the Darkness from the Pit, although we should not mistake the enemies of our enemies to be our friends. Miss Ferrier was valued by some foes of He Who Presides, so she has been kept as a playing piece, to be used when necessary against them. Hope had been searching for her, had found her, but could not free her before meeting his sorry end. Thus, his mission has passed to us."

"Forgive me for saying so, but I don't see why."

The impish gleam came back into his eye, and he withdrew from his own valise a small, wrapped package, which he handed to me. Unnerved, I unwrapped the paper, disclosing an emerald pin.

He said, "Thanks to your thorough investigation of the Prince's innards," I turned aside, momentarily ill with the reminder of that ichor covering the walls, "I was able to form a theory about the nature of the monsters we fight. I believe that the properties found within this pin, and others like it should be succeed and live to manufacture more, may be the key to a victory over the Old Ones. But science requires rigorous testing. We need a test subject."

"Not this poor girl," I murmured, still entranced by the glitter and promise of the emerald pin.

"No," said Holmes. "But Hope said that the Abbess holding her prisoner is a blood relative of He Who Presides, and I think she will provide us with an excellent opportunity." The smile on his face was cold and predatory now, and my pulse quickened. Duty, yes, but the thought of perhaps finding the merest glimpse of the end of these depraved monsters was enough to set my blood alight. And this is why I followed him, no matter where he led, be it rat-infested brothel or Cyclopean hell. Our work was my duty, but he made that burden bearable, and our adventures together surrounding that duty remain emblazoned upon my soul as, ironically, the most joyous time of my life. For all that I lost later, I would not trade an hour spent with him, no, not even now, knowing what I do.

Then I did not know, and again, had I, it would not have changed my reply. "When do we go?"


End file.
